


Five Times Touched

by Leryline



Series: O, Blessed Be The Herald [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (eventually resolved obv lmao), F/F, Friends to Lovers, KISSING IN DARK LIBRARIES.........., Kissing, NSFW, Sexual Tension, Touching, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leryline/pseuds/Leryline
Summary: Cassandra Pentaghast is not romantically inclined towards women. That is how it's always been, and how it always will be.But when a young Chantry girl tumbles from the Fade, nothing is quite the same again, and Cassandra finds that her fingers ache for a little more than the hilt of her sword.





	1. Lace of the Chantry

**Author's Note:**

> fuck you bioware for making me download a mod to romance cassandra. eat my entire ass we're getting married and ur NOT invited

I

* * *

“Seeker! We need your aid!”

The healer’s voice was strained taut, tight as a string. It caught Cassandra’s attention immediately, the mage’s face lit by a halo of ghostly white light, and she crossed the courtyard in a few long strides to crouch down on the flagstones.

Before her lay a woman – more of a girl, if anything, broad-shouldered and fine-featured and with blood caked in her eyebrows and the creases of her nose. Injured, terribly injured. At least that’s what the mage told her, and Cassandra expected no better, what with having fallen from the Fade through a tear in the sky. Anyone would be rattled by something like that.

She’d collapsed in the ruin of the Conclave alone and exhausted. Cassandra hadn’t seen it, not with her own eyes, but she had men who did; they told her of a woman – of Andraste, they swore on it – and the blinding light that had heralded the Rift’s closing. But instead of Andraste returning to the world to save it from the great evil that now loomed, the rift deposited a girl dressed in the clothes of a Chantry sister. There was no saint, no saviour. Only an unrecognisable face and dirty, knotted hair. Cassandra felt foolish for having hoped for more.

Taking hold of the girl’s arm, she lifted her, holding the body against the singed metal of her breastplate. The girl lay limp in her arms, her head lolling on a swanlike neck, the white of her robes blackened with soot and grime, torn in places and scorched in others. Her skin was filthy and her palms were grazed almost to the bone; Cassandra had so many questions, most of which she hadn’t the nerve to ask. She shifted the girl in her arms so her head was turned into Cassandra’s neck. She was heavier than she looked, Cassandra noted vaguely as the mage directed her to the keep in a hoarse voice raised over the wind.

The mage followed her closely as she carried the young woman back to the keep; the building stood stoic and half-ruined and beyond a labyrinth of gates and sentries. Eyes turned to them as they passed, wide with speculation, but Cassandra kept her eyes trained on her path. The woman’s Chantry robes trailed against the stone, tumbling down from Cassandra’s arms in murky white folds of silk and lace. These clothes Cassandra had rarely seen before – their design was singular and unlike the ordinary clothes a Chantry sister would wear – but she recognised them, and that recognition made her stomach turn.

“In here,” the healer panted and held open a door for Cassandra, leading her to a steep flight of stone steps. “I understand you wished her taken to the prison. Sister Leliana told me. There is a room in there just off from the cells – it has a cabinet and a cot. We can restrain her if you wish.”

Cassandra took pause. She descended the steps without speaking and headed immediately into the small, windowless room, placing the woman down on the cot in a nest of tulle. She was vaguely aware of the healer bustling around at the stout pine cabinet by the door; it was the only furniture in the room apart from the bed and a rickety wicker chair.

The woman looked young. Harmless. She looked positively _green_ , and Cassandra wondered if she’d yet had twenty summers. Her face had a noble complexion, given away by her paleness and a softness that spoke of days spent indoors or behind the pages of books. Her breathing was shallow.

But she breathed.

“Pray, Seeker, would you help me?” The mage’s voice was breathless as she sorted through a box of poultices. “There is not much time. Word has been sent to Master Solas but we have not yet had reply.”

“What would you have me do?”

The mage nodded toward the woman on the cot. “Remove her clothing. I must assess the extent of her injury.”

There was no time for Cassandra to be flustered by the thought of undressing a woman. It was not the place to think of such things – this woman had just fallen out of another world as the only survivor of one of the biggest catastrophes Fereldan had ever seen. It didn’t even cross her mind.

Cassandra’s gloved hands pressed to the woman’s bodice; the pearl buttons gleamed in the torchlight, the material reinforced with bone and a betraying stiffness. With the aid of a small, sharp dagger, however, Cassandra made quick work of it, pressing the bodice and the corset back to reveal milky white skin and breasts peaked with rosy nipples. She continued to cut and to tear, focussing more on speed than on dexterity, peeling back layers of silk and lace and boning, chasing the woman’s soft skin right down to the cradle of her hips. Cassandra’s war-strengthened hands snapped the boning of the skirt and tore the material the rest of the way. Enough, at least, for her to slide the dress away from her, pushing apart the neckline to wrangle the woman’s limbs from her sleeves.

“And her smallclothes?” Cassandra asked, her voice pitching strangely at the end of her question. She cleared her throat to try and dislodge the unwelcome lump there. Her hands hovered at the young woman’s hips.

 _It is inevitable,_ Cassandra reassured herself as her eyes crept up the length of the girl’s body, between the swells of her breasts, lingering for a moment on the amulet that hung there. _That I should see these things._ Besides, what did it matter if she saw… _intimate_ areas? She was not inclined towards women – not in that way. And their current situation left no room for awkwardness.

“Yes, please.”

The mage, at least, returned to Cassandra’s side as she untangled the girl’s legs from her smallclothes, tossing them onto the flagstones along with her other clothes. Her gaze lingered on the pile of white fabric. They were no ordinary Chantry robes… they were those worn in ceremony, pure white to signify purity and renewal, worn by young women who were to be initiated as Chantry sisters. The Conclave had been hosting such a ceremony on the same day as Divine Justinia’s peace talks.

In the back of her mind Cassandra remembered seeing girls in those very same dresses, veils drawn down across their faces and shoulders, trains running in fold of snow as they ascended the Conclave steps. She remembered the beauty of it, the artful craftsmanship, each dress made to each girl’s measurements. She found herself wondering what this girl would have looked like dressed and groomed and veiled. Hurriedly, Cassandra rid herself of those thoughts.

The healer pored over the girl’s body. It was bruised, though aside from her hands and a few shallow scrapes on her face, she looked relatively unharmed. Dirty, certainly, but not hurt. The healer was not so easily convinced.

“There is the possibility for internal injury,” she told Cassandra urgently. “Not to mention _this_.” She lifted the girl’s hand, palm slashed with green that crackled and pushed convulsions all through the unconscious body. “But there is nothing to be done about this until Master Solas arrives. We must do what we can.” Before Cassandra could protest, the mage pushed a number of sealed vials and bottled into her hands. “Seeker, you understand the urgency. Please. Take the blue vial and apply its contents to her abdomen. It will stem any internal bleeding.”

Cassandra asked no questions. She peeled off her gloves and placed them on the floor beside her, taking up a sizeable vile of a blue-ish coloured ointment. It was warm in her hands and she hesitated – only for a moment – before pushing her fingertips into the soft flesh around the girl’s navel.

It was easy to set into a rhythm; push, pull, don’t apply too much pressure. Part of her was mesmerised and part of her just wanted it to all be over so she could put the girl in chains and wait to interrogate her for her crime. All of her was angry, but it wasn’t only about Justinia’s death, nor the disaster of the Conclave. Something else was there. She didn’t know what it was.


	2. Initiation Pains

II

* * *

Evelyn. Evelyn Trevelyan. That’s what her name was.

She’d given Cassandra her name both reluctantly and willingly; it left her perplexed and a little endeared, though she would hardly admit the latter. If Cassandra had thought Evelyn green while unconscious, her beliefs were further cemented upon her waking. The girl was scared and angry and confused all at once, wreaking the havoc of hysteria over a life which, until that morning, had been as placid as the summer sea. Now she – and most of Fereldan – had been plunged into chaos. Evelyn had not handled it well.

Cassandra had learned her name while standing over her, the girl having fallen flat on her back after being blasted backward by a particularly turbulent Rift on their way back to the Temple. All the breath had been knocked from her lungs; she’d wheezed the name out, her face stunned and pained, as Cassandra stood above her with each foot planted on either side of her hips.

 _Evelyn,_ Cassandra thought as her small squadron rode back toward Haven after picking up a wagonful of resources from the nearest farm that hadn’t been destroyed. All thoughts of Evelyn came vaguely to her in strange, quiet moments, though most of Cassandra’s thoughts had been consumed with her of late. Everybody’s had. After all, who wouldn’t be curious? She’d fallen from the Fade followed by Andraste herself and nobody knew anything about her.

“Why did you take me with you?” Evelyn herself asked sharply from Cassandra’s side; she was sat upon her own mount, her legs clasped awkwardly against the saddle and her shoulders hunched about her ears. Her face – which had been almost haunting in its beauty the first time Cassandra had seen her – was pinched in pain. Her voice brought Cassandra back from her thoughts and alerted her to the harsh reality; she was suddenly surrounded by the clatter of horse hooves and the rattle of wagon wheels.

“To get you accustomed to riding and to bearing armour,” Cassandra replied tersely. “It was Leliana’s idea.”

Evelyn huffed. She was antsy – strangely, though, her irritation outweighed her anxiousness, which was rare considering what Cassandra knew of her thus far. Evelyn was frightened into shyness often, but beneath her anxiousness Cassandra could sense something of a brazen tongue. She’d seen glimpses of it while talking to her.

“What is the matter?”

Evelyn’s gaze flickered back to her. Those eyes – they were such an unsettling colour. They were the brightest of green, pale enough to resemble ice, almost translucent. “Nothing.”

Cassandra’s lip curled. “I do not appreciate being lied to.”

Evelyn turned her gaze away and chewed at the inside of her cheek as though weighing up the options of lying or telling the truth. “I… blisters. The armour. It is chafing.”

A flutter of laughter rose in Cassandra’s throat, but she swallowed it down, choosing to frown instead. _Is that all_? She could barely remember the days when she’d been in the same position, dealing with the harsh blisters of armour and the painful wait while they hardened to callouses. It was so long ago.

Back when she was being trained, she’d found the effect of prolonged armour wear almost unbearable, even as a very young girl at a time when armour wasn’t quite so snug nor as tightly fit. So, for Evelyn, it would be even worse than Cassandra herself could recall. Especially considering the added stress of the sky being torn apart.

“I… could help you. I know of a potion that may help relieve the pain.” Cassandra’s voice was stiff and hopelessly awkward. She kept her eyes trained on the spires of the Chantry as it rose atop its hill. She was vaguely aware of Evelyn fixing her with a delighted look.

“Would you really?”

 

Cassandra noticed the stiffness with which Evelyn held herself. It _looked_ painful. Leaving the dealing of the resources to Scout Harding, Cassandra lead the girl into the Chantry and back to her own room where she kept a small cabinet of various potions and poultices, their use intended for this exact reason of pain. Cassandra was lucky enough that she did not encounter it often.

Gesturing for Evelyn to take a seat, Cassandra retrieved the potion and briefly wondered what, exactly, she was doing. Evelyn sat on the edge of her bed, tapping her toes idly on the flagstones and letting her pale eyes wander across the ceiling. _Green as the Free Marches’ pastures,_ Cassandra thought bitterly and made her way over to the bed.

“You will need to take your armour off,” she said brusquely. Evelyn let out a little ‘oh’ before setting to work on unclipping and unbuckling the armour she wore which, thankfully, was still forgivingly light. She lay it on the rug by the hearth, stacking it all neatly until she stood in only cotton shirtsleeves and her leather trousers. She looked… a lot smaller without all her armour. But she also looked older, somehow, the armour having hidden the shape of her body. Cassandra’s memory flickers back to the day in the valley when she’d passed her knife through Evelyn’s bodice, bearing her body to the air; she remembered how soft and pleasantly coloured her breasts had been.

“Cassandra?” Evelyn asked, alerting Cassandra to the fact that she had been intently staring at Evelyn’s chest, her brow wrinkled in a frown.

“Right. Yes.” Cassandra cleared her throat, uncorking the salve. “Where are you hurting?”

Without any preamble, Evelyn tugged her shirt over her head, leaving her torso clad in nothing but breast binding. She raised her arms to reveal raw, chafed skin where the metal had rubbed through her padding in rings around her armpits. The junctions of her shoulder and neck were even worse, rubbed raw to the point of weeping. Evelyn offered Cassandra an apologetic smile as she unwrapped the binding around her breasts, using her arms and hands to cover what she could, as difficult as it was with the painful sores over her ribs. “I apologise, I…”

It was as if Evelyn had only now begun to regret her decision to accept Cassandra’s help. Her face was flushed pink, colour anointing the heights of her cheek in a way that was far more pleasant than Cassandra would _ever_ be willing to admit, her gaze downturned to where her bare toes curled against the stone.

“You needn’t worry,” Cassandra said; Evelyn glanced up, her arms held tight across her chest. “There will be no loss of dignity here. Your agility in armour is more important.”

“But if it makes you uncomfortable –,”

“I never said it did. I also have a body, do you remember? I have seen this thing many times before.” Ah. That… didn’t come out as Cassandra expected. Evelyn’s eyebrows quirked in interest, a curious smile alighting her lips, and Cassandra made a displeased sound in the back of her throat. “Not like that.”

Without a word, Evelyn let her arms relax and her body straighten up. Cassandra took a seat beside her on the bed, nudging her bare shoulder blade a little to get her to turn her back to the other woman. Cassandra’s eyes wandered down her spine, over the faint, tiny moles that made their appearance here and there. Her skin was the colour of cream, not yet defined by muscle and by no means close to the bone. It looked _soft_ , like confectionary, or the sweet cakes Cassandra’s brother used to sneak her when they were children. The urge to press her mouth to that skin grew – if only for a moment – unbearable. But Cassandra was familiar with unbearable things, and so she managed to force it back down without so much as a flinch.

She began with the welts at Evelyn’s shoulders. They were obviously from strapping, the weight of the breastplate bearing down against too few layers; she made a note in the back of her mind to find out who was responsible for dressing Evelyn incorrectly. She might not have minded as much if it wasn’t the only person who could save the world. But, as things were, Evelyn was something that could not be broken.

At Cassandra’s touch, Evelyn let out a sigh, one that sent a curiously cold shiver running from the nape of Cassandra’s neck all the way down to the small of her back. Her frown deepened in response.

As the minutes passed Cassandra pressed a little harder, working the pads of her thumbs into the skin so she could rub in the salve. The harder she pressed the more Evelyn’s head tipped forwards, revealing the column of her neck, which was – in a perfectly objective view, Cassandra assured herself – quite beautiful. Evelyn breathed out a groan and Cassandra quickly pulled her hands away.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked, prompting Evelyn to glance over her shoulder. The lids of her eyes were drowsy.

“No,” Evelyn replied dreamily. “Keep going. It feels nice.”

 _It feels nice._ Something about those words lodged in Cassandra’s throat and remained there as she finished rubbing at the Herald’s neck. “Lift your arms.” At her command, Evelyn raised her arms above her head, linking her fingers behind her neck. Cassandra was almost disappointed that they obstructed her view.

Hands ghosted up Evelyn’s sides. Hard, calloused hands seen so often with gloves, but this time without. Cassandra’s fingernails were meticulously cut, and so they didn’t bring pain when she pressed her fingers to the chaffed skin beneath Evelyn’s arms. The raw skin skirted just past the swells of Evelyn’s breasts, and as Cassandra’s fingers passed them the first time her memory once more called back the image of those peaked, pink nipples. _How… unhelpful_. The flesh grew thicker there. Evelyn’s sighs grew louder.

Cassandra didn’t dare acknowledge the fact that she spent more time than necessary applying the salve. She was just being safe – no risks could be taken with something so important. It was her _duty_ to protect this woman, even if said woman sat half-naked on her bed with Cassandra’s hands all but cupping her breasts –

Her face had dipped closer to the back of Evelyn’s neck than she’d realised. Their bodies had gravitated closer, though Cassandra couldn’t remember either of them moving. She could smell the sharp scent of the salve awash with smells of wet forest canopies and expensive perfume that had been so religiously rubbed into the skin that, even when without, the scent lingered. It was a mesmerising concoction of smells. Evelyn’s fingers loosened behind her neck, finally releasing, her elegant fingers accidentally brushing across Cassandra’s cheek as they did.

It was enough to tear her back to reality.

“That should be better,” Cassandra said curtly, her voice a little too loud, movements a little too quick. She stood and left Evelyn, still rather dazed, sitting on the bed with her ands about her neck. Standing was a mistake. From there Cassandra could once more see her breasts – all it would take would be for her eyes to dip.

She refused to let them.

Keeping her gaze as neutral (and vaguely hostile) as possible, Cassandra handed Evelyn her shirt and the remaining salve. “Take it. You should be able to apply it yourself.”

It took Evelyn almost a minute to regain her composure. She dressed silently, blinking as though woken from sleep, and took the vial gratefully.

“Thank you,” she said to Cassandra just before leaving. The two lingered in an awkward yet undeniably charged silence. “I… it was wonderful. A top-quality massage.” Then she offered Cassandra a rare quicksilver smile; it flickered across her expression so quickly that Cassandra would have missed it had she not been watching her so closely.

The door felt unnaturally heavy as she pushed it shut, turning and leaning heavily against it. Her fingers hung by her sides, aflame.


	3. Something Lost, Something Gained

III

* * *

 

The camp was alight with hoarse cries; some were from the wounded, but they were drowned out almost entirely by those of relief, tears falling from the eyes of the soldiers and citizens alike as a small patrol stumbled down the snowy mountainside, torches raised, voices echoing urgently across the basin. Cassandra raised her head from the map she’d been inspecting, squinting through the dim light towards the commotion at the other side of the camp. Her vision swam with exhaustion.

“They’ve found the Herald!” someone cried, and Cassandra’s knees almost failed her. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, relief flooding her body in waves, and she whispered a prayer of thanks to the Maker. She’d gone hours upon hours trying to convince herself that Evelyn was finally dead, crushed by the tumbling mountain over Haven. She needed to realise it, she thought, and to let go of the hope that she’d ever see her again. But now her heart seemed to lift in her chest.

Her boots crunched through the snow as she met the patrol that had gone to retrieve Evelyn from the slope on which she’d collapsed face-down in the ice. Her skin was almost white with cold, lips blue, her eyes barely open. Cullen held her cradled in his arms; her face was turned against the feathers of his pauldrons and his large, gloved hands gripped her so tightly he looked as though he might never let go. He and Evelyn had grown close, Cassandra knew, and Cullen’s face was positively warped with relief. He saw her approaching and nodded.

“I will take her,” Cassandra said urgently, the words leaving her lips before she’d even stopped.

“But –,”

“I said I will take her, Commander.” Cassandra’s tone left no room for argument. Reluctantly, Cullen shifted Evelyn’s near-unconscious body from his arms into Cassandra’s. The weight was clumsy but welcome.

It was difficult for Cassandra to maintain an expression of neutrality on her way back to the healers’ tent. It was difficult for her to wait while they examined her, while Mother Giselle pored over her from head to toe and filled her full of potions to warm her blood and heal her chill. All the while Cassandra’s mind convulsed with thoughts – not questions, not anything specific, but all of Evelyn. _Only_ of Evelyn.

The right side of the Inquisitor’s face had been sliced open during the battle at Haven. The cold had frozen the blood against her skin in a thick, viscous streak, and the healers set about knitting together the wound as best they could. By the time they’d cleaned it, Cassandra saw that it ran from just above Evelyn’s ear right over the peak of her cheekbone, ending just before the apple of her cheek. It was an ugly wound. Cassandra’s stomach lurched.

“You may return her to your tent, if you wish,” said a gentle voice in her ear. Cassandra started, jerking around to see Mother Giselle eyeing her evenly. Her expression betrayed nothing. “But you must be vigilant of her condition – when she wakes you must call the healers to help her rub the cold from her body.”

Cassandra swallowed. Mother Giselle clearly knew _something_ – something that even Cassandra wasn’t aware of, apparently. She nodded. “Of course.”

Once Evelyn lay in Cassandra’s tent, the camp outside felt like it was miles away. The tent was small, cramped, and cold, but none of that mattered. Cassandra sat in the chair by Evelyn’s bedside and let her body relax for the first time since they’d seen the mass of torches flood over the mountains.

She remembered hearing that Evelyn was to remain in Haven. To remain as bait for whatever foe they were to face… that she was willing to sacrifice herself to save the others. It was the first truly selfless act Evelyn had ever committed with conviction; she grew that day. Cassandra had recalled how rage had flooded through her; it had been a moment of weakness, and she’d screamed at Cullen for letting her go, slamming a fist against his breastplate and sending him staggering back in shock. Varric had tried to placate her, but even he couldn’t stop the mess of emotion that tangled in her gut, twisting and squeezing and tearing, punching all the breath from her lungs and all the sense from her mind. If Varric hadn’t pressed Bianca against her back and threatened her to move forwards, she most likely would have stayed behind and died alongside the Herald.

And to think that only hours before the mountain fell they’d sat together above the bonfire, enjoying the celebration of the townspeople after the Breach was closed. Evelyn had been framed by the starlight and the forgiving flame of the bonfire, her expression taut and pensive but equally as beautiful as it had always been. Cassandra remembered feeling something within her soften, and had disaster not risen at that very moment, Maker only knows what she would have done.

 _I should have been made Tranquil,_ Cassandra thought, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. _Then all of this could have been avoided._

“All of what?”

Cassandra’s eyes shot open to meet a gaze of icy green, sharp as the blade of a knife. She hadn’t realised she’d been voicing her thoughts aloud.

“Considering you were found unconscious on the side of a mountain neck-deep in snow not three hours ago, you’re terribly perceptive.”

Evelyn’s smile was muted but undeniably catlike. Her voice, however snide, remained weak. She couldn’t conceal that. Not from Cassandra.

“Ah… how cruel. And here I was thinking you’d be happy to see me.” Somehow she managed a smile, shaky as it was, the wound on her cheek warping and pulling at its stitches, causing her to flinch in pain.

Cassandra frowned deeply, sinking from her seat down to her knees at the bedside, leaning in where Evelyn could not yet rise. Their voices were low, bodies close. The tent had finally begun to warm from the shielded brazier, banishing the bitter cold from the outside, though the thin padding over the ground did little to stem the chill. Cassandra could hear her breathing. “Of course… of course I am happy. I am _very_ happy.” Her voice caught in her throat. These words were unnatural and yet they _needed_ to be said – if anything, almost losing Evelyn at Haven made Cassandra painfully aware that words left waiting until the right time may never be said at all. That was not something she could afford.

Evelyn’s smile was softer this time, less teasing. Suddenly everything was very much worth it.

Cassandra, suddenly remembering Mother Giselle’s words, drew back and glanced in the direction of the tent’s entrance. “I must call the healers.”

Evelyn’s smile faded. “Why?”

Cassandra shifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Mother Giselle told me that they must aid you in reducing the chill. I suppose they will want to massage the blood back into your limbs to stave off the frostbite.”

Evelyn shifted on the cot, rising to her elbows. She watched wordlessly as Cassandra started towards the flaps of the tent.

“Wait,” she called just as Cassandra had pulled aside the canvas. A heartbeat of silence passed between them. “You… could you not do it instead of them?”

Cassandra blinked. The canvas fell closed.

She should have declined the offer – that was obvious. She should have at least _hesitated_. But the thought of being able to touch Evelyn once more, to feel the heat of her skin as a reminder that she was _real_ and _alive_ – she couldn’t pass that up. Desperation drowned her doubts and she crossed the tent in a few quick strides, standing awkwardly beside Evelyn’s cot, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides.

This was uncomfortably similar to how they’d met; Cassandra envisioned Evelyn in that flowing white dress, thought of her wearing a Chantry veil, of seeing those piercing eyes glance at her from beneath it. She must have looked heavenly on the morning of that fated day. Cassandra’s heart hammered in her chest as her eyes darted up the length of Evelyn’s body, finally coming to rest on her gaze.

But no. Things were very different, now. She had to remind herself of that.

“Undress,” Cassandra said unevenly. Her face flushed with embarrassment when her voice cracked – not even clearing her throat could remedy it this time. “Are you… do you need help undressing?”

“I might,” Evelyn answered. “Here, take…” she motioned to her sleeves, raising her arms over her head and allowing Cassandra to reach down and peel off her linen shirt. The healers, at least, had taken care of her armour and chainmail. The skin was pink and bruised around her breast binding, her shoulder practically black with burst capillaries. When Evelyn tried to wriggle out of her trousers Cassandra had to help her, too, tugging them down her legs after unlacing her boots. Her eyes lingered on Evelyn’s smallclothes, but only for a moment; she glanced up to meet the Inquisitor’s gaze again, fingers hovering above the cradle of her hips. She’d been in this position before, but unlike now it had been the healer’s permission she’d been seeking, not Evelyn’s herself.

No words passed between them, but a message crossed from one woman to the other. “Just to be safe,” Cassandra mumbled, hooking her fingers into the waistband and lowering Evelyn’s smalls until they tangled around her ankles. Evelyn eagerly raised her hips in aid, and shifted when Cassandra helped her remove the binding around her breasts. A sigh of genuine relief arose from her throat when the pressure was removed.

If Cassandra’s heart was racing before, now it was positively galloping. She hadn’t felt this kind of static charge in the air since her last battle in Solas’s company, and that time it had come from his staff. It was the same kind of static she felt in broiling storms as a child, just before they hit – it was the feeling of black, powerful clouds just out of reach.

Evelyn was not the same girl she’d been when they’d found her. She was soft, then, unblemished and as fresh as a spring flower. But now she was a soldier, her skin nicked with old wounds and new alike, from battle or from sparring and everything in between. Her body had hardened with muscle, though had retained a distinct, feminine softness. The skin was still the same colour, as milky as ever, reminiscent of fresh cream. The bruises on her skin were blooms of blue and red, drops of ink upon a canvas, and Cassandra couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of it. A particularly spectacular bruise crested one of her breasts, a mottled line running alone the inside curve of the swell. Cassandra’s eyes followed it boldly enough to make her neck flush with heat. She didn’t notice Evelyn’s coral-pink nipples harden beneath her gaze.

She sat on the side of the bed and took one of Evelyn’s legs across her lap. The calf was muscled, tapering to a slim ankle and an equally elegant foot. She traced her fingers over the high arch of it, pressing the pads of her fingertips to each of Evelyn’s toes, making her groan in pain as she massaged the blood back into them. “It is necessary,” Cassandra assured her, voice coming out in a soothing murmur. She moved from Evelyn’s toes to her heel, and from there to her ankle, skimming her hands up her calf until her fingers pressed into the inside of her knee. Evelyn lay with her hands above her head, fingers tangled in her own hair, her eyes watching Cassandra unabashedly. Intently.

Cassandra truly did try her best not to let her gaze wander. But… it was so difficult what with Evelyn’s toned, creamy thighs and the thatch of pale hair between her legs. She was exquisite, like something out of _Swords and Shields_ … Cassandra’s mind became awash with hazy memories of the books’ maidens. Their descriptions were… oddly fitting. She didn’t realise how high her hand had slid along Evelyn’s thigh until the woman pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, her hips shuddering. She was holding something back. Something that Cassandra wanted to hear – the want was a dangerously raw and dangerously visceral one. Perhaps it was a taste of what Evelyn was capable of.

It was all a pretence and both of them knew it. Cassandra removed her hand from Evelyn’s thigh and worked on her fingers, finding it unbearably hot and stuffy inside the tent. A sensible woman in her situation would excuse herself for air – but Cassandra, despite having always branded herself as a sensible woman, was having a very hard time grappling with rationality.

“Do you hurt anywhere else?” Her voice was thick. Heated. It would have embarrassed her if she hadn’t been so distracted by the way Evelyn’s muscles quivered beneath her touch.

“My… ribs. Ribs hurt.”

Cassandra swallowed thickly and inched up the bed until she sat close enough to reach Evelyn’s waist. The full-faced flush was absolutely delightful – hadn’t Evelyn used that word on her before…? – and it quickly crept down her neck.

Ribs were not partial to frostbite as far as Cassandra knew. But then again, as far as Cassandra knew she didn’t _ever_ react this way towards women. This truly was an evening for disbelieving.

She rubbed her thumbs up the length of Evelyn’s waist, feeling the soft flesh turn to hard bone as she skirted up over the ridges of Evelyn’s ribs. The Herald groaned, eyes slipping shut and head tipping back, revealing that beautiful arch of her throat. Cassandra licked her lips, not realising that her thumbs had surpassed Evelyn’s ribs and had dug into the fleshy sides of her breasts.

Evelyn was gripped by a full-body shiver when she felt Cassandra’s strong fingers press against her chest. She let out a shuddering moan, hips arching, her fingers closing around Cassandra’s wrists and begging them higher –

“Lady Seeker!” someone barked from outside the tent, causing Cassandra to leap back from the beside as if she’d been slapped. Her surprise quickly turned stormy, and she took her coat from the back of the chair and flung it over Evelyn to hide her nudity before stalking over to the entrance of the tent.

“What?” she barked, exiting out into the biting chill. It surrounded her, so different from the stifling heat she’d been in. It was unpleasant and did nothing but make her angry.

“The Commander has a report for you,” the scout said, his voice drawn out in curiosity as he noted Cassandra’s flushed and generally disgruntled expression. She snatched the file from his hands, breathing the cold mountain air deep within her lungs and willing her sense to return to her.

 _It was far too close,_ she told herself, and vowed to never let it happen again.


	4. Thorn in a Garden of Roses

“I look… ridiculous.” Cassandra could see her reflection in the darkened window across the hall and did not like it a bit. She was made to dress in leather and armour, not this ridiculous silk and velvet.

“I think you look dashing,” Evelyn offered, smiling thinly from over the rim of her wine glass. Cassandra looked at her and refused to smile back.

Neither of them particularly wanted to be at the Winter Palace. They had no choice, of course, between the pending assassination of Empress Celene and Josephine’s never-ending insistence. So they, along with Cullen and Leliana, had ended up here, and as far as Cassandra was aware, Josephine was the only person truly enjoying the function.

Evelyn, of course, had attended a few balls in her youth. They’d never been quite like this, though, and she was rather unnerved by the delicacy of the entire affair. Her advisors were dressed in smart military uniforms of cream and brown silk which, Cassandra supposed, was better than being forced into a dress. Evelyn was the only one of them not wearing the standard uniform because, at Josephine’s constant pleading, she really did need to look the part. To make a proper entrance, she’d said. And, oh, a proper entrance did she make.

Cassandra, upon seeing Evelyn dressed in her finery for the first time, felt as though she’d received a punch to the gut. All the air was knocked from her lungs and that _awful ache_ surfaced within her. Evelyn was dressed in a gown crafted of the deepest blue, the material shimmering and moving like water in the starlight. Jewels hung heavy and glittering about her throat and from her ears, directing Cassandra’s attention time and time again to the column of her neck; her hair was gathered atop her head in an arrangement of curls and braids, tendrils framing her face in a gentle cascade. Cassandra caught herself looking at the nape of Evelyn’s neck and the soft slip of skin just behind her ear. How would it feel? What would it be like to touch –

These were impure thoughts. She was the _Inquisitor,_ Cassandra’s social and military superior. It would be… improper. Besides, Cassandra was not inclined to women. She made that very clear to everybody, and so long as she maintained that truth, then it held. Didn’t it?

The gown’s sleeves did not crest Evelyn’s shoulders. They swooped down to join her neckline, revealing the plush swell of her breasts, accentuated by the corset she wore beneath. They moved each time she breathed and Cassandra was mesmerised by it. She wondered what it would look like if, somehow, Evelyn’s breathing was to race –

 _Enough,_ she told herself, taking another long drink of wine. It was good wine – expensive wine – and made her feel a little fuzzy. Which she needed, currently, as she overlooked the ballroom floor where Evelyn was currently being swept about by Josephine, her head tossed back and a few curls flying loose, laughing. Throat exposed. Chest rising. Jewels glittering, waist twisting –

“Are you all right?” Cullen asked, leaning on the banister beside her. He had that infuriating little smile of his, the same one he wore when he knew something Cassandra didn’t. “You look like your wine just went sour.”

Cassandra snorted and drained the rest of her glass, straightening up a little. “Hardly. I know you are enjoying this affair just about as I am.” She touched the back of her hands to her lips and glanced toward Evelyn again. The dance had just finished and she’d swept into a low bow, grinning at Josephine with genuine enjoyment. Cullen followed her gaze.

_I wonder if I make her smile like that._

“You do, actually.” Cassandra started violently when Cullen replied to her, taking a noncommittal sip from his own glass.

“I… did I say that aloud?”

He grinned at her. “Yes. You do love agonising, Seeker, but I hate to tell you – the Inquisitor cares for you dearly. You must stop thinking you mean nothing to her.”

Cassandra’s heart pounded in her throat. “Whatever happens between the Inquisitor and I is no business of yours.”

Cullen glanced down at the crowd again and nodded. “All right. My apologies. But now would be the best time to catch her, I believe. If you wanted to, of course. But that’s none of my business.” With a polite little bow he left her standing wordless.

“Seeker!”

Cassandra very almost yelped in shock when Evelyn touched the small of her back; she’d been so distracted that she hadn’t even noticed her approach.

“If I was Leliana,” Evelyn told her as she leaned in. “I’d lecture you on being vigilant.”

Eyeing her warily, Cassandra folded her arms. “But you are not Leliana.”

“No,” Evelyn replied with a simple smile. “I’m not. That’s why I came to ask you to take a walk with me.”

Cassandra exhaled and nodded. “Thank the Maker. I thought you were going to ask me to dance. Which I will refuse to do, by the way, so don’t bother.”

They slipped out of the ballroom and into a dimly-lit corridor. The flight of stairs loomed over them, the marble gleaming in the moonlight that streamed through the windows set high into the wall. “This place is beautiful,” Evelyn said. “As a girl I always dreamed of coming here. It’s strange how fate works.”

Cassandra followed her, watching as the moonlight spilled across her shoulders and her hair. She listened as Evelyn told her of her home, of her brothers and sisters; before they knew it they stood in the palace library, which was relatively deserted by this time in the evening. Evelyn gazed around the room, eyes wide with wonder.

“We had a library back in Ostwick,” she began. “But… nothing like this. Oh, I’ve dreamed of seeing this library ever since I knew how to read.” Her voice was breathless. Cassandra’s tongue went dry at the sound of it. Evelyn rarely had time to talk about her home or her passions; her voice always went breathless and her eyes always shone.

They wandered through the aisles of ceiling-high bookcases, encountering someone here and there, but for the most part finding the place deserted. Few lights had been lit, the bookcases casting deep, impenetrable shadows across the hall. Cassandra had settled into the comfort of their stroll, so it took her by surprise when Evelyn’s hand closed around her wrist, using the leverage to pull her deep into one of the darkened aisles. “What –,”

There was no time for her to so much as protest; Evelyn’s hands found her waist and Cassandra’s back found the bookcase, and before she knew it she was surrounded by Evelyn’s soft fragrance and warmth. The Inquisitor’s pale eyes looked at her from beneath lowered lashes, the very tip of her tongue balancing on her lower lip. Cassandra’s breath refused to leave her throat; all she could do was wait.

She knew what was going to happen before it did. There was ample time to stop it, and yet she didn’t. Evelyn’s gaze lingered on the Seeker’s lips before returning to her eyes, and Cassandra had done nothing. She’d said no words. She hadn’t even glared or pushed her away, despite having the advantage of both strength and stature. It would have been easy.

But she didn’t.

Evelyn’s lips found hers through the darkness, the front of her body pressed to Cassandra’s. It was so different from the firm form of men – even though Evelyn was corded with hard muscle she still felt different so undeniably _womanly_ , sensual, warm. And her lips, oh, her lips – they were just as ripe as Cassandra had always imagined them to be, like biting into the most succulent of fruits. Evelyn sighed, pleased, when Cassandra’s strong hands found her waist and dragged her in closer.

There were many, many alarm bells ringing in Cassandra’s head. None of this way right – this was the _Inquisitor,_ she was a _woman_ – the only thing that was right was the feeling. It felt so… natural to be pressed against her like this, lips on her skin. Her body was so close to satiating the ache that had plagued her for so long. Cassandra tilted her head a little to slot their mouths closer, her eyes fluttering shut and Evelyn’s arms winding around her neck, fingers plunging into her hair.

Maker be damned, she felt so _good_. Cassandra had never felt so intoxicated in her life as she did now with the Inquisitor practically melting in her arms. Her hands felt their way up Evelyn’s spine, fingers itching along the lacings as if she yearned to tear her out of them. Desperate hands held Evelyn to her, felt her body, the turn of her waist and the rigid slope of her chest. Evelyn moaned into Cassandra’s mouth when half-moon nails bit into the skin of her chest between the lace frills of her bodice and her glittering necklaces, lips parting to emit humid breath and a sweet, red tongue. Cassandra feverishly took Evelyn’s tongue between her teeth and enticed it into her own mouth, almost swooning when it pushed over hers.

That neck. Cassandra’s lips chased along Evelyn’s jaw, teeth grazing behind her ear. Her lips pressed against the flesh of Evelyn’s neck, longue lathing over the skin, and the Inquisitor turned her head to the side with a breathless moan to give Cassandra the room she needed to fit her face against it. But those damned necklaces kept getting in the way – no matter how Cassandra deigned to push them out of the way, they refused to budge. It made her angry. She _needed_ it.

With a grunt, Cassandra fisted a hand in Evelyn’s necklaces and yanked at them. They rent completely, hundreds of glass beads skittering across the floor, causing Evelyn to gasp loudly, the gesture revealing the gorgeous nakedness of her neck. Cassandra’s groin tightened.

Evelyn let out another breathless gasp when Cassandra buried her face in her neck, biting and lavishing kisses along her throat; the scrape of teeth was delightful. Evelyn’s fingers raked over Cassandra’s scalp, encouraging her, goading her. Satisfaction swelled in Cassandra’s chest.

As much as she enjoyed all the attention her neck was getting, Evelyn could only take so much. She took Cassandra’s face between her hands and yanked their lips back together in an open-mouthed press of tongue and teeth, gasping and moaning into the breath of the other, swallowing the noises almost entirely. Evelyn’s body pressed fiery and rigid against Cassandra’s and _Maker_ , if only they weren’t in this fucking library –

There was a flurry of whispers and the sound of a door opening and closing.

“…see her? Oh, what a sight! Like an angel, don’t you think?” A woman’s voice – the accent was very much Orlesian, and the chuckle that followed it was that of a male, deep and rumbling.

“Quite lovely. And what a joy to see Lady Montilyet again! I do love the sight of her.”

Evelyn’s lips were still, her breath coming hard and fast against Cassandra’s lips. Neither dared move. The footsteps came closer, and soon they both stopped breathing entirely for fear of being caught. Yet neither deigned to part from each other, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to them, and their fingers gripped even harder, as though gathering together could possibly make them smaller.

“Yes, I – oh. What are these?” There was a pause and the footsteps came to a halt. Cassandra could see the long skirt of a dress shift at the end of the aisle; the only thing keeping them hidden now was the darkness. “Beads?”

“Yes… it quite looks like it. Aren’t these Ostwick beads? Terribly expensive.” Cassandra was painfully aware of Evelyn’s warm weight against her chest. She was also aware of how tight she held her, and the warm breath that fanned against her neck.

After inspecting the beads, the man and woman continued their stroll. Neither Evelyn nor Cassandra moved until their voices faded into the distance. Only when the door at the far end of the library creaked shut did they finally move.

“Cassandra –,” Evelyn began, but Cassandra cut her off curtly before she could finish.

“Don’t,” she said, tone biting. “I… this cannot happen. I am not like _that_. This was a mistake.” Her entire mouth burned with the words.

Evelyn backed away until she stood against the bookcase across the aisle. “A mistake.” Her face was plastered with dangerous neutrality, and Cassandra felt something inside her shatter at the sight of it.

“Yes,” she croaked. “A mistake. It cannot happen again.”

She will never be certain how she managed to leave after that. How she managed to leave Evelyn alone in that library with those awful words ringing hollow in her ears, how she managed to leave while her body burned, yearning for Evelyn’s touch and the sound of her voice. How she managed to _lie_ like that.

Evelyn had never made her affections a secret. She was rather an outrageous flirt at times, but this was different, and Cassandra knew it was. Oh, it was easy enough to believe it was all a game, certainly. But Cassandra’s gut told her otherwise, and Evelyn’s heart had been so clear in her eyes that it had been almost unbearable for Cassandra to watch it shatter. Because of her.

Josephine noticed that Evelyn grew subdued, even after their success in stopping Empress Celene’s assassination. She asked Cassandra of it, of why it might have happened, of what might be affecting her. Only just managing to hold herself together, Evelyn’s kisses still burning on her lips, Cassandra had lied.

“I do not know.”


	5. A Siege of Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so my job has wrung almost 30 hours out of me in the last 2 days; i have had 5 hours of sleep my eyes are burning and i apologise if there's a plethora of mistakes in this chapter!!! i was gonna wait to post it but i will literally not have time to do it later, so #yolo

It was wrong.

Everything was so, so wrong.

Evelyn hadn’t bothered Cassandra after the ball at the Winter Palace. The casual flirting had stopped, as had the snippets of her cheeky attitude, and she seemed to resign herself entirely to introspection. Everybody noticed the change – some even asked her about it – but nobody found out the cause. Leliana attributed it to stress, but it was Sera who said that it  _ had  _ to be about a person. A lover. Cassandra, who had been unfortunate enough to be in that conversation, had barely managed to supress a shudder. Was it guilt? Or was it the idea of being Lady Trevelyan’s lover? It was most likely both.

It took Evelyn’s complete withdrawal for Cassandra to realise how much she really did enjoy the Inquisitor’s stupid, flirty little remarks, or her smouldering looks, or the way she’d pretend not to be looking when Cassandra would catch her staring. They were small, insignificant things that didn’t really change much or do anything, but they were fun, and Cassandra found that she sorely missed them once they stopped.

In an ideal world, she would have apologised. She would have told Evelyn that she’d meant no offence, that her mouth had run off without her. But despite being a Seeker of Truth, Cassandra didn’t have the courage.

The others didn’t seem to notice her melancholy. Admittedly, there was little time for her to act as such, and so her opportunities were limited. Sometimes Dorian would invite the advisors to the tavern, an offer Cassandra would usually take up, because with enough ale she could sometimes lie in bed and imagine the warmth of Evelyn lying next to her. In the past she would have been perturbed by such thoughts, such habits – now, however, they were the only thing that kept between her and despair.

When Corypheus fell and Evelyn stumbled right to death’s door, Cassandra was quite sure she was going to die. Panic seized her and she couldn’t breathe; her lungs were wound too tight, her mouth filled with ash and her eyes filled with tears. Evelyn – the young Chantry maiden who had fallen quite literally into her path – had become an extension of her body, of her mind. She’d been there at each decision, to soothe each wound and oversee each negotiation. She’d gone from being a green Chantry initiate to being one of the most powerful military operatives in Thedas, flourishing under Cassandra’s watchful eye. She’d brought her here, and over the past few years they had grown together and fought together, shared blood and tears and those forsaken touches. To be without her now was something Cassandra could not bear. She had been alone for too long.

The healers brought Evelyn back by some miraculous feat of magic and only when Cassandra saw her eyes open was she able to breathe again. She knelt at Evelyn’s bedside and cried for at least an hour, kissing the inside of her wrist and her fingers, never letting go of the pulse. Evelyn stroked her hand through Cassandra’s hair until she calmed, her icy green eyes warm and sad. They’d remained like that for Maker knows how long, not speaking, not moving. And understanding passed between them, then, and suddenly things became a lot easier.

The celebrations lasted for a week. The entirety of Thedas was overwhelmed by joy; Corypheus was dead and the threat was ended. Evelyn spent almost two full days sleeping, emerging towards the end of the week to attend official celebrations. She was dressed beautifully, all pearls and white silks; Cassandra saw that same young Chantry girl again, and couldn’t help but smile.

“May I… may I talk to you?” Cassandra asked after having come up behind Evelyn and touching a hand to the small of her back. Evelyn politely excused herself from the throng of Orlesian nobles and followed Cassandra out onto the ramparts.

“Is something the matter?” she asked once they were alone, the silence broken only by the whistle of the wind and the distant cry of a hawk. They were high enough that the din from the courtyard below was almost inaudible. Cassandra fidgeted a little, smoothing down her coat and clearing her throat.

“Not… wrong. But something is bothering me.” She steeled herself and drew in a deep breath. “At the Winter Palace, when we were together in the library, I said things I did not mean. I believed it was wrong of me to be inclined towards a woman in that way, and on top of that my superior. But while I may have believed those things then, I do not believe it was a mistake. I never did. So I wanted to apologise.” She stared sternly at the flagstones.

“Cassandra, will you look at me?” Evelyn’s voice was surprisingly gentle when she spoke, almost as if she was smiling. When Cassandra raised her gaze she saw that she was, indeed, smiling – if only a little. “I… thank you. That means a lot to me. Confessing mistakes is difficult, even for the strongest of us. But tell me – do you still feel the same? I just have to know, because if this war has taught me anything it’s that hope is never wasted.”

Cassandra’s heart throbbed in every finger, every toe. She could barely breathe. Maker, she  _ loved  _ her – she always had. She was just too blind to see it. The revelation made her hands tremble and she curled her hands into fists to try and hide it.

“I –,” her words stalled, but Evelyn waited patiently. She  _ knew  _ how difficult these things were for Cassandra, who spoke so often in actions rather than words. “I… no. I do not feel the same as I did then. You – when you fought Corypheus I believed I had lost you, and I lost myself in turn. It was only then I realised how much a part of me you have become, and… I do not want to be without you. I  _ cannot  _ be without you.”

In the time she’d been speaking, Evelyn had taken a few steps forwards, closing the space between them. Her gaze flickered between Cassandra’s eyes and her lips, never seeming to rest on one or the other.

“I really do… love you.” The words left her in an exhale, mournful and sealing of her fate, as though it was a death sentence. It was, really – her old self died in that moment, giving birth instead to something new, something different. And maybe – just maybe – something better.

Evelyn took Cassandra’s clenched fists into her hands. The fingers relaxed in her hold, feeling the callouses of Evelyn’s palms and the soft junctions of her fingers. They drew closer still, pulled by gravity towards each other until they stood all but chest-to-chest. Evelyn’s head tilted slightly to the side, her eyes soft, forgiving. Cassandra couldn’t swallow down the lump in her throat.

“I want to be angry at you,” Evelyn murmured, eyelids fluttering as Cassandra finally relented and let her head tilt a little, their foreheads grazing one another’s. “I really do. But I cannot blame you for your confusion, not when I know you like I do. I –,”

Her words were broken off abruptly when Cassandra pressed her lips to Evelyn’s, delighting in the immediate push back, Evelyn taking less than a moment to kiss her back.

These kisses were different to those exchanged in the Winter Palace’s library. These ones were slow where the others were urgent, exchanged in darkness and secrets. Even now Cassandra felt ashamed of kissing another woman, her cheeks heating.

“Stop thinking of others,” Evelyn whispered against her lips. “Think only of me. All right?”

Cassandra fixed her with coal-black eyes and nodded. “All right.”

Taking Evelyn into her arms, she kissed her again. Her lips were still sweet, tempered with nightmarish memories of the war that had only just finished. The wound on her cheek had healed, the scar still raw and purple against her skin, and Cassandra’s lips found the raised tissue and she pressed tender kisses against it.

Soon the kisses stopped. Evelyn lay her head against Cassandra’s shoulder and sighed, just holding her. Cassandra kissed her hair and stroked her fingers over the back of the Inquisitor’s neck. The danger was over. They were safe. They were… possible.

“Cassandra, stop  _ worrying. _ ” Evelyn pulled back and took hold of Cassandra’s face with a frown. “Or else I’ll make you dance with me.”

A ridiculous threat. Cassandra could not help but laugh and kiss her once more.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Cassandra finally allowed herself to gaze after Evelyn with eyes that were heavy with all the desire and affection she’d sought so hard to repress; she didn’t care if others noticed. She didn’t need to worry, not anymore. And Evelyn… she looked so beautiful in her gown as she danced with person after person late into the night, glittering with jewels and victory and the most delightful of blushes on her cheeks. They didn’t have much time to spend together, what with all the nobles begging for an audience with the Inquisitor, so they had to find each other across the room and exchange glances that ranged from flirtatious to irrevocable desire. The latter made Cassandra’s gut clench with raw instinct, all her forgone chances at grasping Evelyn’s body rising at once in her chest. She would have her chance soon, and she would hold nothing back.

It was surprisingly easy for her to let go of the inhibitions that had shackled her these last few years. Now she knew what she wanted – and that Evelyn wanted the same thing – she could embrace it, let it fully flood her body and her mind. She wasn’t the same person as she was before the Breach had opened, not anymore, and if her time as a Seeker told her anything it was that one had to change in order to move forwards. And if she were to move forwards with Evelyn at her side… well, things would be a lot brighter.

Cassandra did have to dance, eventually. She wasn’t  _ bad  _ at it, though she wasn’t particularly good, either – but Evelyn didn’t care, not when the music was loud and bright and the crowd cheered them on, veins filled with wine. Cassandra held her close and couldn’t tear her eyes away from Evelyn’s face. This, indeed, was the kind of thing Cassandra had always yearned for… romance, dancing until midnight with her beloved, of pearls and jewels and reddened lips.

The party finished just after midnight, though Evelyn was forced to remain afterwards and see the guests back to their lodgings. By the time she returned to the now-empty hall she looked exhausted but satisfied, and when she saw Cassandra standing by the throne she grinned from ear to ear and hoisted her skirts up about her knees so she could bound up to her.

“Come back to my chambers with me,” Evelyn said breathlessly, her hands finding Cassandra’s elbows. Cassandra found herself nodding wordlessly, allowing the Inquisitor to lead her by the hand from the throne to the iron-barred door of her chambers.

She had visited Evelyn’s rooms a few times before, but had never lingered at any great length. The vaulted ceiling kept the place cool, the doors to the balconies thrown open, admitting the brisk spring air. Evelyn fiddled with her hair, letting it down over her neck, and set about unlacing the back of her dress.

“Beautiful but damned uncomfortable,” she mumbled, heading over to the looking glass that stood in the corner of the room. “Could you help me with this?”

Cassandra’s deft fingers made quick work of the laces, and she helped Evelyn stow the dress away safely, leaving her only in a light cotton shift. Evelyn fell back onto her bed with a sigh of relief, staring drowsily up at the canopy. “Take off your jacket,” she told Cassandra who, unsure of what else to do, obliged. “Now lie down next to me.”

The bed was forgiving beneath her weight. Evelyn was warm beside her, too, a solid weight; they lay abreast, not quite touching, just breathing. Evelyn let out a small huff of laughter.

“What is funny?” Cassandra demanded, her voice a little sharper than she’d meant it to be. Evelyn fixed her gaze upon Cassandra’s dark eyes and smiled sleepily. Her hand reached up and traced over the long, old scar running up her cheek.

“Here I was planning to spirit you away to my rooms and make love to you until sunrise,” she murmured, her words hitting Cassandra like a punch in the gut. A… pleasurable punch. Something inside her tightened and she could have sworn a match had been lit inside her somewhere. The Seeker blushed furiously and Evelyn lifted her weight upon her elbows, leaning over Cassandra so her hair fell in sweet-smelling tangles around her face. “But I do believe I’m too tired.”

Cassandra ran her fingers through Evelyn’s hair and down the length of her face. Her eyes grew heavy, gaze drinking in each pore, each flutter of her eyelashes. Love… is this what it felt like? Truly? Was it really so similar to the romances in her books…? “We do not need to do anything,” Cassandra mumbled. Evelyn kissed her softly on the lips. “There is time.”

Evelyn undressed her, sitting astride Cassandra’s hips and peeling each layer of clothing from her body until she lay in nothing but her smallclothes. The Inquisitor was too tired to comment, and they slipped beneath the covers together, winding arms and legs and fingers in hair.

“You are realising my dreams, Seeker,” Evelyn muttered in the darkness, her hand travelling up and down Cassandra’s hip. “If I wasn’t so tired, I swear…” her voice slurred with exhaustion.

If Cassandra hadn’t also been so tired she would have never stopped kissing her.

As it were, Cassandra didn’t fall asleep until long after Evelyn did. She lay beside her, watching her as she slept, the way her breath fanned gently over her lips and the way her eyelids flickered as she dreamed. The scar that cut over her cheekbone, faded but still testament to the war they’d waged, splitting across her otherwise pure face. She looked so young when she slept, Cassandra thought, so untroubled. As lovely as a sunrise, her pale hair fanning out around her, the hollow of her throat flickering with each breath. Each thought sent a thrill through Cassandra; even though she knew it was all right to feel this way – to think these thoughts – each time she noticed something lovely about Evelyn it sent a thrill through her, as if there was some rule she was breaking. She fell asleep drowned in the smell of the Inquisitor, and she really did doubt that the evening could have ended any better.

When Cassandra woke the next morning, she was alone. The drapes of the bed canopy fluttered in the breeze, wrens flitting about on the balcony railings. The room was filled with light that splashed across the floor and warmed the stone, sunbeams dancing in streaks of purple and blue as they shifted through the stained glass. She rubbed her eyes, allowing herself a minute more of warm comfort before pushing herself onto her elbows.

“Good morning,” came a voice from nearby; Cassandra turned to see Evelyn standing by the desk across the room, a stack of parchment in one hand and a quill in the other. Her body was naked save for the simple linen robe she wore, her hair a mess of sleepy tangles around her face. “You look truly beautiful when you sleep, did you know?”

Cassandra, with all the dignity of a Seeker of Truth, flushed from her neck to her hairline. “I – you – n-no –,”

Evelyn twittered with delighted laughter, discarding her parchment and quill and going over to the bed. She leaned upon it, the mattress dipping beneath the weight of her knee, and she leaned over Cassandra so her lips barely grazed her cheek. “Tonight I want you back here. Right after dinner. I missed my chance last night, but I promise you I’ll make it up to you.” Her voice was low and oddly thick; Evelyn punctuated her words by pressing a seemingly innocent kiss to Cassandra’s cheek, resting back so she settled her weight over the Seeker’s hips. Her robe fell open to reveal a creamy slip of her thigh, and before Cassandra could stop herself, her fingers grasped it and pushed beneath the fabric. She was rewarded with a gasp from the Inquisitor, who grasped her wrist and pulled it back. “Save it for tonight, Seeker.”

A thrilling boldness coursed over Cassandra’s tongue. “Why ought I to?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep. Evelyn’s eyes visibly darkened.

“Because if you start this now, we will both most likely fail to turn up for our meeting in the war room, which, by the way, begins in little over half an hour.”

Cassandra’s hands stilled on the Inquisitor’s thighs, and for the first time in her life she considered being late for something.

“They arrive at last,” Cullen greeted them dryly when they finally arrived at the war room, a little breathless from their sprint across Skyhold and their bodies achingly untouched. Cassandra’s armour felt incredibly heavy, as though gloating about the fact it was a barrier between her skin and Evelyn’s hands. But there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Despite the two women cutting it fine in their arrival, the meeting went on as usual, voices serious but struggling to hide delight whenever Corypheus was mentioned. The threat was gone, certainly, but the carnage left in its wake was nothing to rest easy about. Refugees needed homes, children needed food, destroyed towns needed rebuilding. Leliana procured an entire list of traitors in need of judgement, Evelyn’s shoulders drooping with exhaustion just from the sight of it.

But Cassandra found it astoundingly difficult to concentrate. She was usually so focussed on things like this – she’d always been proud of her attention to detail within war room meetings, but now she found herself slipping, missing whole chunks of conversation, her eyes lingering on the set of the Inquisitor’s shoulder or the backs of her hands when they should have been lingering on the map instead.

It appeared to be a form of revenge, despite Evelyn having nothing in particular to avenge – her casual flirting remained the same as usual, Cullen pretending not to notice and Josephine rolling her eyes as per usual, Leliana smiling a small smile (which didn’t hesitate to catch Cassandra’s attention; a large part of her suspected that Leliana already knew what had changed between the Seeker and Inquisitor).

Evelyn was… distracting. Even more so than usual, if Cassandra was to be honest with herself, though perhaps the fault lay partly at her door; she noticed things about the young woman that she never would have noticed beforehand. The way her eyelashes fanned over her cheeks when she looked down, the way her teeth flashed when she laughed, how enticing her throat looked between the hard line of her jaw and the neckline of her tunic. How she bit at her lips until they were flushed, almost as swollen as when Cassandra had kissed the very breath from her lungs. The comparison led to thoughts of grabbing Evelyn from across the table and dragging her, rumpling the maps and scattering all of Cullen’s meticulously-laid markers, of pushing her down onto her back and seeing that quicksilver smile as Cassandra rent her tunic from the seams –

“Seeker?”

Cassandra jolted back to the present and found all the advisors’ eyes on her. She cleared her throat, then, shifting her sword belt and trying to ignore Evelyn’s smug little smile, as though the Herald knew exactly what she’d been thinking.

Conversation resumed somewhat normally after that. Cassandra’s thoughts never strayed far from her imaginings of Evelyn spread over the war table, a pale arrangement of lilies and cream, thighs quivering, dripping… Cassandra shook her head a little to rid herself from the thoughts that grew more and more heated (and dangerous) with every passing moment.

“All right, that should be all,” Josephine finally said, sighing heavily and writing off the bottom of her report with a flourish. “Let us hope that disaster does not befall us for at least a few weeks.”

Evelyn lingered a little behind the advisors as they filed out of the room, falling into step beside Cassandra as they left. They walked close, elbows almost touching, and Evelyn’s eyes were dark and a little mischievous. “You do not hide your thoughts terribly well, Seeker,” she mused, her roughened fingers finding the inside of Cassandra’s arm. “I almost thought you’d grab me by my hair and have your way with me right there on the war table.”

Cassandra flushed. “I do not know what you mean.”

Evelyn only chuckled, pulled Cassandra into an alcove, and kissed her.

Neither Evelyn nor Cassandra were really the kind for watching clocks. But now they both found themselves watching as time itched by, second by second, united by their agitation. They rarely got a chance to see each other during the day after their meeting in the war room; somehow it was worse than having to bear each other’s presence. Instead of seeing Cassandra, Evelyn was consumed by thoughts of how she could make her come undone, of what she’d look like when that tightly-wrapped braid came loose, or when the dark khol around her eyes became smeared from kisses and tears.

She’d seen Cassandra naked many times. The two were companions, and together they travelled all over Thedas – when it came to bathing on the road they would stand watch for each other, as well as any other women who happened to be in their company. Evelyn had played her wandering eyes off as playful flirting, and as far as she knew Cassandra wasn’t the wiser to the deeper desire that underlay the little glances.

Evelyn endured hours of Josephine’s displeasure at her distractedness, though she didn’t mind it, not really. Not when she caught sight of Cassandra in the dining hall just after sundown, lilac light slanting down through the high stained glass of the hall’s windows, casting pale moonbeams across the exposed slip of Cassandra’s neck. She darted through the congregating crowds as they readied themselves to dine, slipping around the outskirts of the hall until she slid onto the bench between Cassandra and Varric. She pushed one thigh between them and was rewarded by Cassandra’s eyes widening in shock as she saw who the thigh belonged to; Varric chuckled that low chuckle of his and slid over, allowing Evelyn to nestle in between them.

“Evening, your Inquisitorialness,” he said with an amused little glance. “What d’you say to a few hands of Wicked Grace tonight? I’ve been trying to convince the Seeker here, but she says she’s got plans. Thought she’d listen to you.” And then he winked, and Evelyn grinned, turning to Cassandra.

“Plans?” she asked. “Whatever could you be doing?”

Cassandra licked her lips, her eyes darting about nervously.  _ You. _ Evelyn’s hand found Cassandra’s thigh beneath the table and she squeezed, entranced by the way the hollow of Cassandra’s throat tensed and released. Her fingers slid a little higher, until her pinky finger rested against the crease of her hip.

“You are well aware, Inquisitor.”

_ Maker,  _ Evelyn loved when Cassandra called her that, her voice so low it was almost gravelly.

“I’m afraid I might not be able to make it,” Evelyn told Varric without taking her eyes from Cassandra’s, nor her fingers from her thigh. “I have my own matters to attend to tonight.” Her fingers slid up Cassandra’s hip and the Seeker barely managed to hide her shudder, finally tearing her gaze away and turning it back to her plate. Varric let out another one of his I-know-exactly-what-you’re-talking-about chuckles.

Evelyn ate so fast she almost gave herself hiccups. Cassandra sat warm and solid beside her, practically feeling the Inquisitor’s heartbeat, yearning and aching to just let her hands slide all over her body, to see that cheeky little smile melt on her face. She glanced at her often, asking, wondering when they’d be able to escape so Evelyn could make good on her promise.

But she was nervous – oh, Maker, was she nervous. The whole day afforded her time to stew over both her mounting lust and her anxiety. Would she make a fool of herself? Would she embarrass herself? Would Evelyn look at her with pity, or –

“Seeker.” The voice was low and quiet beside her; Cassandra glanced up from her plate and met a gaze that was both heated and cool at the same time. A nervous breath rattled from her lungs.

And then Cassandra was standing in Evelyn’s chambers, the chill of the stone running up through the soles of her boots; she couldn’t remember the journey from the dining hall to the Inquisitor’s rooms, but she didn’t think about it, not when Evelyn was letting her hair down from its braided knot with a heavy sigh of relief. It was all so… casual. Watching Evelyn unclasp her tunic beneath her chin, down her throat – it was as if Cassandra wasn’t even there.

She looked overwhelmingly natural. It was a glimpse into her past, Cassandra realised, a glimpse of a person she’d never met before. The Evelyn Trevelyan that existed before the Conclave – the young lady who had never known the true terrors of war, whose skin had never been torn. The young Chantry girl who had ascended the Conclave’s steps in her flowing gown of white. It was… intimate, almost. Homely. Watching her undress was a comfort Cassandra never knew she’d find.

But then Evelyn looked up and trained her eyes on the Seeker; she smiled a small, wicked smile, and all of the preconceived innocence vanished. Cassandra’s breath caught in her throat.

The buttons at Evelyn’s throat came apart one by one. They revealed slip after slip of milky skin, the dip of her clavicles, the slight ridge of her breastbone. Cassandra’s eyes refused to wander from the sight and her heart picked up speed, pounding between her ribs like the galloping hooves of a horse.

“You have seen me naked before,” Evelyn told her, her voice slicing through the charged air and hitting Cassandra like a punch to the gut; unexpected pleasure knotted low in her abdomen.

“I have,” Cassandra replied, flushing when her voice failed to remain steady. “But…” her voice trailed off as Evelyn took slow, measured steps towards her, fingers still unfastening her tunic one by one, dancing teasingly down over the gold embroidery. She did not stop until they stood a hair’s breadth apart, the Inquisitor’s soft breath tickling Cassandra’s chin, her knuckles brushing the front of her armour.

“But?” Evelyn’s eyes glinted and she smiled, her tunic falling open, her hands dropping to take Cassandra’s wrists and raise them between their bodies. The tips of her fingers brushed over Evelyn’s skin and electricity shot straight up her spine, pooling at the base of her skull and causing the knot of pleasure in her gut to pulse. Cassandra was hot; the only time she remembered feeling like this was during the sweltering summer they’d spent in the Exalted Plains, when the sun had beat down on their armour and almost roasted them alive. This… was a different kind of heat.

Undoubtedly, Cassandra’s fingers had wandered here before, both when Evelyn had been conscious and when she had not. But this time was different – perhaps it was because of the Inquisitor’s dark eyes, the way her pupils yawned wider than usual in seas of icy green; perhaps it was because rather than of her own volition, Evelyn was the one guiding her hands in the first place. Cassandra didn’t know.

“It still feels wrong to you, doesn’t it?” the Inquisitor asked; she didn’t sound hurt or upset, only sympathetic.

“Not wrong, I only…” Cassandra swallowed and searched for words. “I am…”

A heartbeat of silence passed between them. Evelyn’s fingers loosened about her wrists.

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

Cassandra turned her eyes away.

Perhaps in her past, Evelyn would have been deterred. But she was no longer a Chantry maiden, but a war-hardened leader, and so Cassandra’s reaction did little to waive her. She let her hands slide from the Seeker’s wrists to her fingers, taking off her gloves and leading her further into the room.

As she set about unbuckling Cassandra’s armour, there was no heatedness or lustful urgency in her actions; it was something they had done in the past many times, helping each other remove armour, especially in the days when Evelyn was too inexperienced and clumsy to remove it herself. The weight of it was a welcomed farewell; Evelyn lay it neatly by the hearth, propped against one of the bookcases.

She shirked out of her tunic and kicked off her leathers, donning a light cotton nightdress and throwing herself down onto her bed, stretching out her limbs and closing her eyes. “Cassandra, stop standing there like a stunned nug and relax.”

Just like the night before, Cassandra found herself beside Evelyn on her bed, the furs cool and soft beneath her body. The Inquisitor’s eyes were not tired, though, when she finally turned her gaze to the woman beside her, bringing a hand up to stroke the deep scar over Cassandra’s cheek.

“You confuse me, Cassandra,” Evelyn murmured, her skin ghostly in the half-light. “You pull away. You’re afraid of this and I don’t know how I can make it better.”

Cassandra’s voice broke when she replied, the clenched fist of pleasure deep in her abdomen pulsing with each heartbeat, her fear sitting ripe on her tongue and serving as nothing more than a catalyst to it. “Show me.”

Tentative fingers curled about her jaw, tilting her chin up and allowing Evelyn to slot her mouth over Cassandra’s. They pressed down over her neck, feeling about the frayed neckline of her shirt, tugging at the laces that bound its collar. Cassandra’s hands felt about blindly until they found Evelyn’s waist, tugging their bodies a little closer until one of Evelyn’s muscled thighs pushed its way between Cassandra’s; the Seeker, despite herself, pushed her weight down against it, feeling the knot in her gut surge with pleasure. The pressure was mounting quickly now that Evelyn’s thigh ground between her legs, its movements conscious and influenced by a certain goal – Cassandra found it hard to breathe against the Inquisitor’s kisses, which had grown so deep and so heated that they stole the breath right from her lungs.

“Do not think,” Evelyn breathed against Cassandra’s lips. Her breath was laboured, her hands diving beneath Cassandra’s shirt, feeling up beneath the starched material and over the hard ridges of muscle. She seemed to find every scar, every inch of raised tissue, each stitch and each scab; her touch was electric, even more so than Cassandra could have ever imagined.

_ She is touching me, _ Cassandra thought dazedly;  _ all these years I have been the one touching her, but now… _ her thoughts broke off as Evelyn vaulted herself up onto all fours, her tongue searing against the corner of Cassandra’s mouth, her weight as arousing as it was comforting. Cassandra’s knee pushed between her thighs, causing her nightdress to ride up and knot about her waist; the Seeker caught sight of those smooth, toned thighs, the moonlight catching the pale curls between her legs. Cassandra remembered seeing them once before, in the tent after Haven had been decimated. Her hand had been on Evelyn’s thigh, creeping ever upwards, goaded by the deliciousness of how wrong it all was.

“Touch me!”

The order was gasped between rasping lips, Evelyn’s lips swollen and her cheeks flushed with colour. Cassandra’s hands had been lying useless in the dip of Evelyn’s waist – was she afraid? There was no need to be. This moment was all their own, after all. Nobody was going to disturb it.

It was at that moment Cassandra realised that Evelyn Trevelyan was hers. All hers, even if only until the dawn. The chamber door was locked. She…  _ wanted  _ her.

“Show me,” Cassandra begged, unsure of where her hands should go, what they should do. “I do not… I have never been with a woman before.”

Evelyn drew back, pale hair falling across her face, her eyes bright in the darkness. “Are… is this your first time sharing somebody’s bed?”

Shaking her head Cassandra replied, “No. I have… I have only been with one other. A man and a mage who died the day we found you. We… I cannot compare that and this.”

The back of Evelyn’s knuckles grazed down Cassandra’s cheek. It was a tender gesture, a little surprising after years of stolen touches and urgent, violent kisses. “I have been with only one woman before: a servant girl on my father’s estate in Ostwick many years ago. I will show you what I can, but…” She offered a crooked smile. “I believe we may have to discover one another on our own.”

Cassandra’s head tilted backward as Evelyn’s lips ghosted down her throat. Soft lips attached themselves to her collarbone and  _ sucked _ , drawing blood to the surface and bursting the cappilaries until a dark bloom of blood flourished just beneath the skin; Evelyn’s pale eyes fixed upon it hungrily, and she licked her lips, her teeth hard and hot against Cassandra’s shoulder. The Seeker arched into her touch, trying to push herself further into Evelyn’s grip, the sheets silky and cool beneath her skin.

“I love you,” Evelyn sighed, bullying apart Cassandra’s thighs and settling between them, her skin stark and pale against the dark flesh. She couldn’t stop  _ touching  _ her, couldn’t stop kissing her, and Cassandra felt like she would drown – she gasped like a dying woman, her shaking fingers knotting in Evelyn’s hair and dragging her closer; her thighs quivered as Evelyn slid down her body, the tip of her nose and her teeth grazing over Cassandra’s dark, peaked nipples. She took them between her lips and bit hard enough for Cassandra to hiss, her pale eyes flicking up with a smirk, and she rolled the hardened nub between her teeth until the other woman was moaning and raising her hips to the point Evelyn had to wrestle her back down, hands on the sharp angles of her pelvis. “Easy…” The nose of her bridge glistened with sweat and Cassandra gazed up at her, pushing the hair back from the Herald’s face, her fingers gentle. Tender. Evelyn smiled down at her.

“Please,” Cassandra choked; her voice barely sounded like her own. It was rough and high and  _ needy _ , something she’d never really been before. “I need… I need you to touch me.”

Evelyn’s smile pressed to her own gasping mouth, but just as she felt Evelyn’s tongue flick against her lip it was gone, the Inquisitor sliding back down her body to settle between her legs. Cassandra’s heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her head. She looked down the length of her body at the pale hair pooling in the cradle of her hips and the pink, flushed lips that hovered  _ so close  _ to the dark thatch of her pubic hair –

“Maker,” Cassandra gasped, throwing her head back, each muscle of her body growing tight as Evelyn’s thumbs pressed against her labia, parting them to see the glistening pink flesh. “Do not tease…”

“You look delicious,” Evelyn rasped; her voice rattled with desire, her eyes darker than Cassandra had ever seen them, and that alone was enough to make the Seeker’s body scream with need.

And then Evelyn buried her mouth and her nose between Cassandra’s legs. Her arms locked around the Seeker’s muscular thighs to stop her from thrashing, the soft flat of her tongue lathing and flicking over the flesh, which grew wetter and wetter. Evelyn’s breath huffed, breath growing laboured, kisses peppered against Cassandra’s inner thighs. She ate, feasting like a starving man, between Cassandra’s legs, making up for all those times she’d longed to hold her like this. By the time Cassandra had shrieked and sweated through her first climax of the evening Evelyn’s chin was dripping with sticky, sweet fluids. She licked her lips and leaned up over Cassandra to kiss her.

“You taste as delicious as you look,” she hummed, and Cassandra blushed furiously, her body limp from the intensity of her orgasm.

At some time during the night Cassandra regained her strength and pushed Evelyn down onto her back, swallowing her fears and exploring the Inquisitor’s body bit by bit, kiss by kiss, pore by pore. She learned what places made Evelyn moan when touch, which places had her arching into Cassandra’s hand, which way to stroke deep inside her to make her squirm and cry out. She’d never been as satisfied as she was when Evelyn lay on the verge of sobbing with pleasure, legs melted apart, the apex of her legs dripping, her clitoris swollen and jutting up from beneath its hood, begging for touch.

The sheets soaked with sweat as Evelyn and Cassandra ground their bodies together, clasping hands and lips and thighs, pressing fingers to swollen labia and swollen tongues. It felt so sinfully good; Cassandra’s fist fit so perfectly in the strands of Evelyn’s hair.

“I love you,” Cassandra gasped, quivering in Evelyn’s arms as her mind went hazy with yet another climax, and Evelyn could only moan into her mouth in return.

_ I love you. _

* * *

 

“You were wonderful,” Evelyn murmured, stroking a few short, dark hairs back from Cassandra’s brow. They lay together on the mussed bed, sheets twisted around their legs, the cool air from the mountains breathing in through the windows. Her eyes were heavy, sleepy, her lips curved into a smile. Cassandra couldn’t take her eyes from her face. “I feel… I feel as though all my desires have been realised.”

Despite herself, Cassandra smirked. “If that is all, then your desires are terribly tame.”

Evelyn caught her lip between her teeth for a fleeting moment before kissing her. “I hope you know that I plan to court you properly,” she continued. “No more cosy little library corners. I shall send flowers to your door and the most exquisite of Antivan wine to your table, and I shall make sure the entire court knows of it. I’m not afraid to build you a bower of whatever your heart desires.” As the Inquisitor, she could – and she would.

“I do not need flowers or wine,” Cassandra told her. “My heart only desires one thing, and she is right here with me now. And besides.” Her hand skirted up the curve of Evelyn’s hip. The Inquisitor quirked a brow at her. “What is wrong with cosy library corners?”

Evelyn threw back her head and laughed, the sound sweet and clear, and she kissed Cassandra once more, the gesture full of adoration. “I’m sure we can reach a compromise.”


End file.
